Dwarves Don't Cry
by EntSpinster
Summary: When Legolas and Gimli leave the rest of the Fellowship to travel in


Dwarves Don't Cry.  
  
When Legolas and Gimli leave the rest of the Fellowship to travel in  
Fangorn, each is concerned about the other's health.  
  
Yet another MPREG fic-- slash warning-- nothing explicit-- and male childbirth.  
Canon up to the final breaking of the fellowship, then AU, to say the least.  
  
Disclaimer-- I am but the poor mother of a college student. Sue me and you'll get a used cat.  
The characters are Tolkien's. What happens to them is not, and I hope he'll forgive me  
for setting him spinning in his grave.  
  
  
Gimli son of Gloin had never thought that he would be glad to enter any forest,  
let alone Fangorn. Nor to separate from the rest of the Fellowship. But he was.  
Naturally it wasn't the actual trees, but the chance to be with Legolas in real privacy,  
such as they had not had since they left Minas Tirith, that pleased him.  
  
For one thing, they could sleep tangled together. Dwarves and hobbits will   
dwarf-pile and hobbit-pile at any age, but humans and elves consider it immature.  
And while the Fellowship had few illusions about their relationship, Gimli, for one,   
considered it to be none of Elrond's business-- or Galadriel's or Celeborn's, for that matter.  
(He was carefully avoiding the question of what she might see when she got back to her  
mirror.)  
  
Naturally Gimli was almost always on the bottom- at least when they were sleeping.  
The elf was so light that Gimli sometimes wondered if he might have hollow  
bones, like an eagle. Nevermind-- he was warm and very flexible, and made an  
excellent blanket. Except that blankets don't wiggle-- or, on the other hand, stroke  
your braids.  
  
  
"Gimmer?"  
  
"Humph?"  
  
"Are you well?"  
  
"What makes you think I might not be?"  
  
"For one thing, you're not smoking. Not that I mind, of course. But here's Gandolph  
and the hobbits going on like chimneys-- and even Aragorn once he got away from Arwen."  
  
"Well, if he can give up weed for his Elven lover, I guess I can for mine."  
  
"Very flattering. And I suppose you gave up sausage for breakfast for me, too. Nothing but dry  
toast, like a human woman trying to loose weight."  
  
"Now how would you know about human women?"  
  
"Half the female population of Minas Tirith seemed to think that I could tell them how to look like  
an elf. Unfortunately we look the way we look because we are elves-- which meant that I couldn't  
help them."  
  
"Now why would they want to look like elves?"  
  
"Not all of them did. The rest of them wanted something a little more direct—elf-shagging, to  
be exact."  
  
"Should I be jealous?"  
  
"No, just smug."  
  
By this time Gimli was sitting up, and enjoying the rare experience of actually looking down on   
Legolas. This did not keep his next sentence from sounding like an accusation.   
  
"And what about your eating habits? It's been weeks since you've eaten anything except lembas."  
  
"Lembas is a complete and healthy food for elves."  
  
"Maybe a little too rich? Those perfect abs are looking a little bit mushy to me."  
  
Gimli poked Legolas in the stomach. Legolas sat up indignantly. Then an idea could be  
seen forming in his eyes.  
  
"Umm—Gimli?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You did tell me that there are dwarven women?"  
  
"Of course there are. It's just that the other kindred can't tell the difference."  
  
"Not even if they've been as close as we have? I mean, you are male, aren't you?"  
  
"Of course I am! However, one of the great secrets of the dwarves is this:  
some male dwarves can conceive and give birth. Mahal seems to have wanted a fail-safe,  
in case our number of females might fall too low. Strange even for a Maia, that Mahal."  
  
Gimli was blushing, under his beard, but trying to sound as if he was not in the least  
flustered. This might have worked, had not Legolas burst into rather hysterical laughter, Wordlessly he   
dragged an polished wooden box out of his pack. The script on it was bewilderingly ornate,  
but Gimli finally made it out.  
  
"Field use elven obstretics kit? Meaning what?"  
  
"One very sharp knife. Three needles threaded with elf hair. Germ killer herbs. Pain killer herbs (not that   
they ever work all that well). Elfamile lembas neonatal formula. Two bottles, four nipples. One warming   
blanket. Six reusable diapers. One blank birth certificate. Oh, they think of everything in Lorien. Galadriel   
gave me this just before she and Celeborn left for the golden wood."  
  
By this time Gimli had come up with a casket of caste and graven bronze, which he handed over to Legolas.  
  
"A gift from the dwarves of Iron Mountain. Their ambassador gave it to me at the coronation."  
  
"Hey. These instructions are in dwarvish."  
  
"I said it was a secret of the dwarves. Oh, no."  
"Oh, yes. I'm very much afraid that…"  
  
"BOTH of us?"  
  
"Are pregnant!"  
  
Elven laughter rang out like silver bells. And after a moment a low grumble transformed itself into the   
bronze chimes of the laughter of a dwarf.  
  
"Well," said Legolas, "At least we don't have to worry about telling Arwen."  
  
Laughter, once more.  
  
"But what about our fathers?", asked Gimli.  
  
"We're both of age. At worst I suppose we can both make a break for Imladris."  
  
"We'd better. I don't know about you, but I've never studied surgery."  
  
Legolas got up, stirred the fire, and put some bread to toast, while Gimli went to fetch fresh water.  
  
They expected Treebeard to turn up sometime today. 


End file.
